


Everybody Digs a Swingin' Cat

by Anonymous



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-19
Updated: 2010-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-07 09:14:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Donna, the Doctor, and a cat. What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everybody Digs a Swingin' Cat

The first time the subject came up was while they were saving the Earth. Or rather, a tiny Finnish village with an unpronounceable name, but close enough. It was the year 1910 and aliens were doing bad, non-culinary things with bovine DNA and Finnish potatoes.

An hour earlier Donna had still been blissfully unaware of the true nature of hay. It certainly looked soft and comfy and smelled quite nice. That was before she'd been forced to hide in a barn with a ton of it itching inside her bra. They were buried in layers and layers of the stuff; Donna had her eyes tightly shut against the dust. She squirmed and everything started itching even more.

"Why is it always hiding in uncomfortable places?" she whispered. "And aliens invasions and bad people. Can't it be tropical beaches for once? Or, y' know, _fluffy kittens_ or something?"

"I used to have a kitten," the Doctor said.

That statement would be enough to give anyone pause. "What, in the TARDIS?" she said and opened her eyes to meet his in the dark. "A real, live cat?"

"Well, it wasn't an _Earth_ cat, but yes. A tiny, little Mungian kitten. They've got lovely fur. Very smart. Live to be really old. At one point they were considered holy on their home planet. Of course, then they ate--"

"Can we get a cat?" Donna interrupted, before he could progress to a full blown history lesson.

"What? No!"

"Why not?"

"No cats on the TARDIS. End of discussion."

 

* * *

 

Donna ducked right before an arrow swept by and buried itself in the wall behind her. "Cats don't take a lot of work at all."

The Doctor dropped his screwdriver. "_No_."

 

* * *

 

"The TARDIS is really big, you wouldn't even notice it!"

The Doctor sighed as he got the TARDIS started. "We are not getting a cat."

"All I'm saying is it would be nice. A happy surprise for once. Unlike when you promise to take me 'somewhere special' or whatever you called it, and the next thing I know, I'm ducking for alien arrows."

"I didn't mean," he started, aiming the mallet threateningly at some poor, unsuspecting part of the console. "I was trying to bring you somewhere--"

"Yeah, yeah," Donna said. "What happened to your cat anyway?"

"What do you mean?" the Doctor said as he flipped a last couple of switches that had the TARDIS floating safely in the Vortex.

"It's not around anymore, where did it go?"

The Doctor turned around towards her, leaning back on the console. "It was a very long time ago."

Then he got a wistful look on his face that was probably the start of a really gloomy sort of mood. She distracted him by fishing up a handful of hay from her pockets and throwing it at him.

If there was one thing she'd learned from the Doctor, it was the merit of pockets.

 

* * *

 

In retrospect, she should probably have pressed on a bit more. But in the midst of world saving, liberating alien planets and all that bloody running, it completely slipped her mind. Until one day when it got really hard not to remember.

Donna barely had the time to find a marker for her book before the Doctor pulled her along to a room in the TARDIS that he called 'the garden'. This turned out to be just a fancy name for a single tree, a couple of shaggy bushes and a patch of grass. "This is your garden?" Donna said and raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"It used to be bigger," the Doctor said defensively. "Before... well, before. The TARDIS is regrowing it. But look at that tree! It's got leaves!"

It did have leaves. And although the room looked a bit weird with its coral walls, the Doctor had a picnic basket and a bottle of wine and she was overdue for some relaxation.

Unfortunately, they barely had the time to sit down before they were scrambling up the tree with something big and furry at their feet.

"What. Is. That."

"Oh, now I remember!" The Doctor grinned widely. "It's my cat!"

Donna looked down at the sharp-fanged monster that looked a bit like a very big and very grouchy tiger, and then back at the Doctor. "That. Is not a cat," she said, clipping the words.

"It's a _Mungian_ cat. I told you, they live to be very old. And get quite big."

"You did not mention anything about size."

"Isn't that a given?"

Donna would have slapped him if she hadn't been busy holding on to the tree for dear life. "Your cat just tried to eat us!" she yelled, really hoping this wasn't the tree-climbing kind of cat.

"Yeah", the Doctor said and smiled fondly. "Mungian cats tend to do that."

Donna snorted. "Lovely pets."

"Well... oh, but they are gorgeous. Look at that fur." He glanced over at her. "You know, it's almost the same colour as your hair."

He reached out a hand, which she swiftly batted away. "Don't touch my hair!"

"But it's wonderful!"

"Of course it's wonderful," she snapped. "Don't try to pet me like a cat."

He smiled then. "Donna Noble, you are not a cat. You are a brilliant human--"

"Oh, shut up."

 

* * *

 

Trees weren't terribly comfortable, as it turned out. Donna sighed and tried in vain to find a less awkward position on the branch. "A picnic. In the garden, you said. Wonderful."

"How was I supposed to know the cat was hiding in here?" he said, squirming when she glowered at him. "I didn't even know it was still on board!"

"It's your ship!"

"I was just trying to take you somewhere... well, somewhere _nice_," the Doctor said, suddenly looking a bit pink.

The surprise made her forget that she was angry. "What, really?" she said, tilting her head.

"Yes. I'm just not very good at it." He looked so miserable she couldn't help but laugh a little.

"Not that I wouldn't appreciate a tropical beach now and then, but you and the running are a package deal; I've known that from that the start." She leaned over and rummaged through his pockets to find the bottle of wine he'd brought. "I knew you were good for something."

 

* * *

 

The picnic basket was still keeping the cat company on the ground below and Donna wasn't all that keen on the linty crackers the Doctor had found in his bottomless pockets. Wine would have to make do.

"You did say you wanted a cat," the Doctor reminded her.

"I was thinking of the cuddly kind," Donna said, peeling off a bit of bark from the tree and tossing it at him. "The kind that doesn't want to eat me. What's he called?"

The Doctor furrowed his brow. "I just called it... cat."

"What, 'the Cat', like 'the Doctor'?" Donna rolled her eyes. "That's imaginative. I'm going to call him... Fred."

"Fred?!" he protested.

"He was my favourite uncle on my dad's side."

"We are not calling my cat Fred," he said flatly.

"Too late," Donna said and swayed slightly before the Doctor grabbed her arms and reeled her back in. All right, so, drinking wine in a tree had maybe not been the _best_ idea.

 

* * *

 

"Doesn't he get lonely?" she asked. Fred was chewing on their picnic basket and did not look like he was planning on leaving any time soon.

The Doctor shook his head. "They're solitary animals. A bit cannibalistic actually. It's... well, the lesser said about it the better, probably."

"But what has he even lived on for all this time?"

"Oh, this and that. The TARDIS is very big. He seems to like picnic baskets." She glanced down - there wasn't much left of it now. "But space mites mostly, I suppose."

"Space _what_?"

"Space mites. They're like parasites, for space crafts. Can be quite a hassle if you don't keep an eye on them. About the size of rats. Well, big rats. Well, maybe more like a dog." Donna glared at him, and he promptly added, "A very small dog. Toy Poodle. Or a Beagle. I've never seen one bigger than a German Shepherd."

"You mean there are mites the size of _German Shepherds_ running around on the TARDIS?"

"No, of course not. He eats them all!"

"So, flesh-eating cats, dog-sized space mites..." Donna pinched the bridge of her nose. "What else is hidden away on this ship, or will I regret asking?"

"There's nothing else," he said, but then he got a pensive look on his face. "Well. Last time I landed during the Cretaceous period there were a few Deinonychuses who nipped off in the direction of the Zero Room."

Nothing that happened during the Cretaceous period could be good. "A what?" she asked, hoping against hope that the answer would be something like a cuddly pony that shat rainbows.

"Deinonychus," the Doctor said. "Three of them, actually. Is it Deinonychuses or Deinonychi? Anyway, the dinosaur, not the Borran Imperial Dynasty."

He talked so much rubbish that sometimes she almost missed the point. Almost. "There are _dinosaurs on the TARDIS_?"

"Probably not," he said quickly. "And even if there were, they usually don't eat humans."

"Of course they usually don't eat humans; there _were_ no humans when they were alive!"

"Ah, well... that's a good point, actually."

 

* * *

 

Eventually Fred got bored and sauntered off, presumably in search of a less troublesome snack, and Donna and the Doctor could climb down.

"What if he tries to eat me in my sleep?" Donna said, and looked back once every two seconds to make sure no carnivorous beasts were following them.

"Oh, that won't happen," the Doctor said cheerily. "Probably. There's a reason he's kept away. Space mites are much tastier than humans and Time Lords."

"I would believe that, except we just spent a whole day up a tree! And then," Donna said, her eyes narrowing, "you told me charming bedtime stories about _dinosaurs_."

"Weeeeell," The Doctor said. "Maybe lock your bedroom door, just to be on the safe side."


End file.
